


#22: Don't Fill Up On Bread, No Matter How Good

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: 100 Rules for Adults (That Clint Barton Never Learned) [22]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton Has Issues, Food Issues, Gen, No Eating Disorder, Phil Is a Good Bro, dealing with childhood trauma, food hoarding, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:44:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2476919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>See note at the bottom if you're worried about triggers.</p>
    </blockquote>





	#22: Don't Fill Up On Bread, No Matter How Good

**Author's Note:**

> See note at the bottom if you're worried about triggers.

There were a few quirks he had left over from foster care and life in the circus that, no matter what he did, Clint Barton found difficult to shake. A couple of them were practical, like scoping out high hiding places or keeping a bug-out bag ready, or compulsively checking his gear.

The others were things he normally had under control, but when he was tired, or on a mission, or otherwise mentally focused, they snuck out and smashed him over the head later, bringing up memories and a sense of personal failure that he hadn’t been able to overcome impulses that were no longer necessary.

And then he felt guilty for feeling shame for something that he shouldn’t. Yeah, he should probably have a standing appointment at psych to deal with things. Clint’s never denied that he has issues. 

He and Coulson were on a mission, trailing a person of interest in an on-going investigation into gun-running. Their target was supposed to meeting contacts at a local steakhouse, so of course, Clint and Coulson were getting a nice dinner on SHIELD’s dime. They were both dressed semi-professionally, looking like weary business travelers from the hotel down the road. They each ordered a beer and slumped in their seats on opposite sides of the booth, playing with their phones like casual colleagues who didn’t really know each other but found it easier to eat together than alone. 

In reality, they were checking out the various camera feeds and listening devices they’d managed to plant the night before when their target’s plans had been confirmed. They hadn’t been able to get someone on the staff, but Clint had been able to break in after hours and alter the reservation book to put the target where they wanted him and plant the bugs around the table. They each wore an earpiece which allowed them to listen in, and the phones gave them eyes on the table while also recording and streaming the content back to SHIELD’s secure servers for the analysts. 

Their server came back with a basket of fresh baked rolls and took their entrée orders. When he was gone, Coulson took a roll and nudged the basket in Clint’s direction. Unconsciously, Clint took two, depositing one on his plate, and secreting the other away in a pocket. He picked at the roll on his plate as he listened to the conversation between their target and his contacts which was mostly empty small talk for the moment, though Clint gave Coulson a look when he recognized a couple of names. Coulson nodded – message received – and tapped something into his phone.

When their target excused himself, Clint did the same, trailing him to the bathrooms (he had his limits on placing surveillance equipment). Since they hadn’t discussed anything of consequence at the table so far, Clint half expected him to be making a phone call, but the man simply did his business, washed up, and headed back to the table. Clint hung back a moment, pretending to make a phone call in the alcove outside the bathroom door, knowing Coulson had everything covered from that position, and so Clint wouldn’t look suspicious following the guy straight out of the bathroom. 

When he got back to the table, Clint found a fresh basket of rolls and their salads had been delivered, along with glasses of water. Coulson was buttering another roll. 

“What?” He asked at Clint’s look. “They’re good.”

Clint grinned. Coulson loved fresh bread. Their partnership was fairly new, but he’d shared enough meals with the man to learn a few things about him. He snagged another roll for himself (two, again, unconsciously) and they made small talk as they ate their salads, both still keeping half an ear on the conversation happening on the other side of the dining room. 

Not long after the entrees had been delivered to both tables, the conversation at the target’s table switched to the deal he was negotiating. Clint and Coulson fell quiet, the image of two exhausted business travelers having a meal rather than enjoying it.

When their waiter came back offering dessert and coffee, Coulson ordered cheesecake and coffee; Clint just asked for coffee and excused himself to have a ‘smoke’ outside, so he could plant trackers on the cars of the men their target had met. Secondary agents would be put on their surveillance if they turned out to be worth watching. 

On his way back to the table, he detoured by the restroom again to wash his hands, and found their target still with his companions at their table, and his earpiece told him they were still working out the final details. 

Back at their table, Coulson was slowly savoring his cheesecake, and Clint found a steaming cup of coffee at his place. “What time’s our meeting tomorrow?” Clint asked. 

“Ten-thirty,” Coulson replied. They’d been on this detail for a week now, and Jasper’s team was set to come in and take over since there was something more pressing that needed their attention (and Clint’s particular skill set). The handoff was scheduled for ten-thirty. 

Clint nodded, sipping at his coffee. Coulson nudged his plate toward Clint in offering, but Clint shook his head. He wasn’t a fan of cheesecake, and hadn’t really developed a taste for sweets in general. 

Across the restaurant the meeting wrapped up, with the actual deal scheduled to go down in three days. Sitwell’s team was competent and would handle it with no problem, Clint knew, but he still couldn’t help feel a bit disappointed to not see it through. 

Coulson asked for the rest of his dessert to go, and the waiter took the plate away to wrap up, along with Coulson’s black credit card. Clint slumped back and finished his coffee as their target sauntered out of the restaurant. 

Clint looked askance at Coulson when the waiter returned with the check and a large paper bag. It was too large to hold just the other half of Coulson’s cheesecake. Coulson didn’t say anything as he signed the credit card slip (leaving a generous tip, Clint saw) and slipped out of the booth, grabbing up his leftovers. Clint trailed after him, neither of them saying a word until they were in their nondescript rental car.

“You can put your rolls in there,” Coulson said with a nod to the bag that Clint held in his lap as Coulson drove back to their hotel.

“Hm?” Clint looked over. 

Coulson smiled softly. “The dinner rolls in your pockets.”

Clint flushed. He still did that sometimes, hoard food. It was something he was good at stopping himself from doing when he didn’t have a thousand other things going on in his head. But in mission mode, it sometimes just happened. “You noticed.”  
It wasn’t a question.

Coulson shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not the first time it’s happened,” Coulson said and then huffed out a laugh. “I’m a spy, Clint .I see things.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Clint said, immediately falling into defensive mode, like he had as a kid every time he’d been caught sneaking food away from the table at the group home or trying to sneak just a little bit extra from the cook tent in the circus. “I can pay for them, or if you take me back I can-”

“Barton.” Coulson cut him off. “It’s fine,” he said gently. “Really. And actually, I asked for another basket to take with us. It’ll be good for breakfast so we don’t have to worry about getting up for the hotel breakfast and we can sleep a bit later without having to worry about meeting up with Sitwell for the exchange.”

Clint relaxed minutely. “Can I ask you a favor, sir?” he asked after a moment.

Coulson nodded. “If I – if you – I try not to do it,” he explained, stammering somewhat as he tried to put his thoughts into words. “I know that I don’t have to. But it was habit for a long time. Could you…” he trailed off, biting his lip.

“Yes,” Coulson said without hesitation. “You want a code word?”

Clint relaxed even further, wondering how he had ended up not only not in jail, but within an organization that actually seemed to care about its assets and with a handler who appeared to understand, and rather than try to beat the behavior out of him, just rolled with it. He nodded. “How about Cheyenne?” he asked as they rolled past yet another business with the name of the city attached.

Coulson nodded again, once, firm. “I can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Clint has habits he hasn't been able to fully let go of - one of them is hoarding food to make sure he always has something to eat. While at a restaurant on a stakeout with Phil, he mostly unconsciously sneaks rolls into his pocket. Phil notices and brings it up later.
> 
> Please (and always) let me know if I need to tag anything I missed.


End file.
